During the time I was an inmate in my master’s house, along with his mother, brothers, and sister, I attended his brother’s horse, and made myself as useful to the family as I could. At that time I had no acquaintances,—at least none to be very intimate with. I needed none. I wandered in the fields, and on the Town Moor, alone, and amused myself with my own thoughts. When the time arrived that I was to cater for myself upon four shillings and sixpence per week, I went to lodge with my aunt Blackett, who, being the widow of a freeman,^[12] kept a cow upon the Town Moor, and I was abundantly supplied with milk, which was the chief thing I lived upon.

At Mrs. Blackett’s I became acquainted with Gilbert Gray, bookbinder; and this singular and worthy man was perhaps the most invaluable acquaintance and friend I ever met with. His moral lectures and advice to me formed a most important succedaneum to those imparted by my parents. His wise remarks, his detestation of vice, his industry, and his temperance, crowned with a most lively and cheerful disposition, altogether made him appear to me as one of the best of characters. In his workshop I often spent my winter evenings. This was also the case with a number of young men, who might be considered as his pupils; many of whom, I have no doubt, he directed into the paths of truth and integrity, and who revered his memory through life. He rose early to work, lay down when he felt weary, and rose again when refreshed. His diet was of the simplest kind; and he eat when hungry, and drank when dry, without paying regard to meal times. By steadily pursuing this mode of life, he was enabled to accumulate sums of money—from ten to thirty pounds. This enabled him to get books, of an entertaining and moral tendency, printed and circulated at a cheap rate. His great object was, by every possible means, to promote honourable feelings in the minds of youth, and to prepare them for becoming good members of society. I have often discovered that he did not overlook ingenious mechanics, whose misfortunes—perhaps mismanagement—had led them to a lodging in Newgate. To these he directed his compassionate eye, and for the deserving (in his estimation), he paid their debt, and set them at liberty. He felt hurt at seeing the hands of an ingenious man tied up in prison, where they were of no use either to himself or to the community. This worthy man had been educated for a priest; but he would say to me, “of a ‘trouth,’ Thomas, I did not like their ways.” So he gave up the thoughts of being a priest, and bent his way from Aberdeen to Edinburgh, where he engaged himself to Allan Ramsay, the poet, then a bookseller at the latter place, in whose service he was both shopman and bookbinder. From Edinburgh he came to Newcastle. Gilbert had had a liberal education bestowed upon him. He had read a great deal, and had reflected upon what he had read. This, with his retentive memory, enabled him to be a pleasant and communicative companion. I lived in habits of intimacy with him to the end of his life; and, when he died, I, with others of his friends, attended his remains to the grave at the Ballast Hills.^[13]

How long I remained with my aunt, I have now forgotten. After I left her house, I went to lodge with a person named Hatfield, whose wife was an excellent cook and market woman, and who had long lived in the family of “Willy Scott,” the father of the present Lord Chancellor of England. My landlord afterwards got into a very unfortunate way of doing business. Being a flax dresser, his brethren prevailed upon him and his wife to permit the tramps—or scamps—in that line to take up their lodgings with them. Here I was introduced, or at least had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with them, and a pretty set they were. Their conduct was wicked in the extreme. The proper effect, however, was produced upon me; for I looked upon their behaviour with the utmost disgust. After my landlord had for some time been cheated and defrauded by this set, he at length got done with them, and boarded and lodged others of a better cast of character.

Long before the death of my friend Gilbert, I had ceased to have the privilege of reading his books, and what I could save out of my wages only afforded me a scanty supply. I had, however, an opportunity, per favour of my master’s servant, (who admitted me early in the morning into his parlour), of reading through, with great attention, the then new publication of “Smollett’s History of England;” and, for a long time afterwards, I clearly remembered everything of note which it contained. With some of the characters therein depicted, I was greatly pleased, but with others I was shocked and disgusted. They appeared to me like fiends obtruded upon the community, as a curse and a scourge; and yet how surprising it is that some of these can be spoken of, by authors, with complacency. Another source from whence to obtain a supply of books presently fell in my way, through the kindness of William Gray, the son of Gilbert. He was a bookbinder of some repute, and this led him into employment of a superior cast to that of his father, and his workshop was often filled with works of the best authors. To these, while binding, I had ready access; for which purpose I rose early in the morning; and to him my well-known whistle in the street was the signal for his quickly preparing to get to his work, and I remained with him till my work hour came.

I feel it as a misfortune, that a bias, somehow or other, took place in my mind at this time, which led me deeply into the chaos of what is called religious works; and, for the purpose of getting into a thorough knowledge of all matters of this important kind, I spent much time, and took great pains, to obtain information; but, instead of this, I got myself into a labyrinth—bewildered with dogmas, creeds, and opinions, mostly the fanatical reveries, or the bigoted inventions, of interested or designing men, that seemed to me to be without end; and, after all my pains, I left off in a more unsettled state of mind than when I began. I may be mistaken; but I think, many a well-meaning man has spun out his life, and spent his time, on subjects of this kind in vain. Waggon loads of sermons have been published—some of them, perhaps, good—in order to prove matters (in my opinion) of no importance either to religion or morality. If it be true that every thing in perfection is simple, so it must be with religion. There may be many moral and religious duties for man to fulfil in his passage through life; but the rules for doing so are so plain and easily understood that common sense only is necessary for all that is required of us in the performance of them. The beauty and simplicity of the doctrines laid down by the inspired and benevolent Author of the Christian Religion, however they may have been distorted and disfigured, are yet in themselves perfect. They may, indeed, be compared to a mathematical point—a point of perfection for all men to aim at, but to which none can fully attain. The inspired writings of the prophets of old are also full of simplicity, as well as of indescribable beauty, and may be read and considered with ever-increasing delight. Poets and moralists, of more modern times, have also laboured most clearly to point out the paths which lead to religion, to virtue, and to happiness. As far as I am able to judge, all we can do is to commune with and reverence and adore the Creator, and to yield with humility and resignation to His will. With the most serious intention of forming a right judgment, all the conclusion I can come to is, that there is only one God and one religion; and I know of no better way of what is called serving God than that of being good to his creatures, and of fulfilling the moral duties, as that of being good sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, and members of society.

At this time, I had few that I could call intimate acquaintances. My almost only ones were books, over which I spent my time, mornings and evenings, late and early. This too intense application to books, together with my sedentary employment, and being placed at a very low work bench, took away my healthy appearance, and I put on a more delicate look, and became poorly in health. When my master saw this, he sent for medical aid, and Nathaniel Bailes,^[14] surgeon, was consulted. But, before he uttered a word as to my ailment, he took me to his own house, and there he stripped and examined me, and, looking me in the face, told me “I was as strong as a horse.” He then made up some medicine to cause expectoration. This was all soon done, but not so the lecture he gave my master, whom he addressed in terms which I thought both long and rude. “What!” said he, “have you no more sense than to set a growing, country lad to work, doubled up at a low bench, which will inevitably destroy him?” and, in his passion, he cursed Mr. Beilby for his ignorance or something worse. From this time the Doctor took a liking to me, and often criticised my work. He also took great pains to direct me how to live and to manage myself, under so sedentary an employment; and an intimacy commenced between us which lasted as long as he lived. He urged upon me the necessity of temperance and exercise. I then began to act upon his advice, and to live as he directed, both as to diet and exercise. I had read “Lewis Cornaro,” and other books, which treated of temperance; and I greatly valued the advice given in the “Spectator,” which strongly recommended all people to have their days of abstinence. Through life I have experienced the uncommon benefit derived from occasionally pursuing this plan, which always keeps the stomach in proper tone. I regularly pursued my walks, and, whilst thus exercising, my mind was commonly engaged in devising plans for my conduct in life.

For a long time, both in summer and winter, I went to Elswick three times a day, at the expense of a penny each time for bread and milk. I had an hour allowed me for dinner; and, as to my mornings and evenings, I could take a much longer time. A very small matter of animal food, when I missed going to Elswick, was amply sufficient for me; for I think my constitution did not require to be stimulated. By persevering in this system of temperance and exercise, I was astonished to find how much I improved in health, strength, and agility. I thought nothing of leaving Newcastle after I had done work—7 o’clock—on a winter’s night, and of setting off to walk to Cherryburn. In this I was stimulated by an ardent desire to visit my parents as often as possible; and the desire continued to act upon me as long as they lived.

In my solitary walks (as before noticed), the first resolution made was that of living within my income; and another of similar import, was that of never getting anything upon trust; but, indeed, my limited income, at this time, led me carefully to observe these rules, and I have never since forgotten them. The train of reflections they brought along with them has also dwelt upon my mind. I could not help observing the inevitable ill consequences which a contrary course (at first entered upon, perhaps, unthinkingly) led thousands into, and the misery it entailed. The more I have thought upon this subject, the more clearly I have seen its importance. Getting into debt is followed by leading people to live beyond their incomes; and this makes all who do so, soon become demoralised and dishonest; and, when the mind has been thus blunted and degraded, anxiety and trouble must be its attendants, till vice and misery close the scene.

Amongst the acquaintances I made at the workshops of Gilbert and William Grey, was William Bulmer, afterwards rendered famous as the proprietor of the Shakespeare Printing Office, in Cleveland Row, London, who was the first that set the example, and soon led the way, to fine printing in England. He used, while he was an apprentice, to prove the cuts I had executed. In this he was countenanced by his master, John Thompson, who was himself extremely curious and eager to see wood engraving succeed; for at that time the printing of wood cuts was very imperfectly known.

About this time I commenced a most intimate acquaintance and friendship with Robert Pollard, afterwards an engraver and printseller of eminence in London. He was bound apprentice to John Kirkup, a silversmith in Newcastle; and, from his being frequently sent to our workshop with crests, cyphers, &c., to engrave, he took a great liking to engraving, and was indefatigable in his endeavours to become master of it. In furtherance of this, we spent many of our evenings together at his father’s house, which to me was a kind of home. On his master declining business, my young friend was engaged for a term of years to learn engraving with Isaac Taylor, of Holborn, London.

In my frequent visits to the workshops of Gilbert Grey, and to that of his son William, I first fell in with Thomas Spence.^[15] He was one of the warmest philanthropists in the world. The happiness of mankind seemed with him to absorb every other consideration. He was of a cheerful disposition, warm in his attachment to his friends, and in his patriotism to his country; but he was violent against people whom he considered of an opposite character. With such he kept no bounds. For the purpose chiefly of making converts to his opinion “that property in land is everyone’s right,” he got a number of young men gathered together, and formed into a debating society, which was held in the evenings in his school-room, in the Broad Garth, Newcastle. One night when his favourite question was to be debated, he reckoned upon me as one of his “backers.” In this, however, he was mistaken; for, notwithstanding my tacitly assenting in a certain degree to his plan,—viz., as to the probability of its succeeding in some uninhabited country or island,—I could not at all agree with him in thinking it right to upset the present state of society, by taking from people what is their own, and then launching out upon his speculations. I considered that property ought to be held sacred, and, besides, that the honestly obtaining of it was the great stimulant to industry, which kept all things in order, and society in full health and vigour. The question having been given against him without my having said a word in its defence, he became swollen with indignation, which, after the company was gone, he vented upon me. To reason with him was useless. He began by calling me—from my silence—“a Sir Walter Blackett;”^[16] adding, “If I had been as stout as you are, I would have thrashed you, but there is another way in which I can do the business, and have at you.” He then produced a pair of cudgels, and to work we fell. He did not know that I was a proficient in cudgel playing, and I soon found that he was very defective. After I had blackened the insides of his thighs and arms, he became quite outrageous and acted very unfairly, which obliged me to give him a severe beating.

I cut the steel punches for Spence’s types, and my master struck them on the matrices for casting his newly-invented letters of the alphabet, for his “Spelling and Pronouncing Dictionary.” He published, in London, many curious books in his peculiar way of spelling. Most of them, I believe, on his favourite subject of property in land being everyone’s right. However mistaken he might be in his notions on this subject, I am clearly of opinion that his intentions were both sincere and honest.

The next most eccentric individual, and at the same time one of the most worthy characters, I early became acquainted with was George Gray, son of Gilbert, and half-brother of William Gray. He was bound apprentice to a man of the name of Jones, a fruit painter. The latter, who, I believe, was accounted eminent in his profession, lived beyond his income, and departed from Newcastle. George being thus left to himself, commenced in the same way of business, and became eminent as a fruit painter; but, from his versatility of disposition, he dipped into almost every art and science, and excelled in many pursuits. He was accounted one of the best botanists and chemists in this part of the country. He was also a geologist, and was fixed upon as a leader or director to a party employed by Prince Poniatowsky, to take a survey of the various strata of Poland; but George, being slovenly in his dress and negligent in his person, felt himself slighted, and left those who put on a more respectable appearance to profit by his superior knowledge, and to do the best they could, and he returned home. Whether it was before or after this time I have forgotten, but he visited North America, and travelled in quest of knowledge pretty far into the interior of that country. On his return he resumed his old employment, in a room never cleaned or swept, and surrounded with models, crucibles, gallipots, brushes, paints, palettes, bottles, jars, retorts, and distills, in such a chaos of confusion as no words can describe. From this sanctum sanctorum, he corresponded with gentlemen of science in London and other parts. Few men were better liked by private friends—as well for his knowledge as for his honesty, and the genuine simplicity of his manners.^[17]

In addition to the various jobs already noticed as keeping my master and myself fully employed, I had others which fell exclusively to my lot to execute; and, amongst these were the mathematical works of Charles Hutton, who frequently came into the room in which I worked, to inspect what I was doing. He was always very civil, but seemed to me to be of a grave or shy deportment. He lived in habits of intimacy with my master, and used to write designs for him to engrave from, particularly for the heads of invoices or bills of parcels; and I remember that he wrote them with an ink, or preparation, which was easily transferred to the copper. This was before his appointment in the royal military academy of Woolwich, in 1773, and long before he had the well-merited title of L.L.D. added to his respected name. Dr. Hutton was that kind of man, who never forget old friends; and, some years after, when I was in partnership with my old master, he recommended us to the notice of Dr. Horsley,^[18] who was commencing his publication of Sir Isaac Newton’s works, the execution of the whole of the cuts for which devolved upon me. This transaction took place in 1778.

I continued to take up my abode with Hatfield, and, the spirits being bouyant, everything pleased me. I cannot help noticing the happy time I spent there. I was also entertained with the curious characters who resorted to his house. These were mostly bird-catchers and bird-dealers, to whose narratives respecting their pursuits I listened with interest. My landlord was almost constantly busied in rearing a numerous brood of canaries, which he sold to a bird merchant, who travelled with them to Edinburgh, Glasgow, &c., for sale.

I also, at various periods of the time I remained under Hatfield’s roof, got into a knowledge of the misguided ways which too many young fellows pursued; and I watched, and saw the wretched consequences of the kind of life they led. I felt grieved for them, and did all in my power to dissuade them from pursuing such a course of life. For this advice they laughed at me, and called me “the old man.” It was not very long, however, till two of them sent for me to come and see them on their death beds. The die was cast, and I cannot forget their thanks to me, and the bitterness with which they reproached themselves for not listening to what I had so sincerely recommended. Such conduct as I have been alluding to appears to me to be of the very blackest die. It is amongst the most shocking of murders. It is to be regretted that the seducer and the seduced cannot be obliged to live together for life, and, while they live, be allowed to herd only with such as themselves; for they ought to be banished from the society of the modest and virtuous part of the community. I think it a great omission in parents and teachers not to make unguarded youth fully apprized of the risks they run in towns of getting acquainted with the lost and polluted women of this stamp. Nothing can be so sure a guard against this vice as that of making young men see it in its true light—to be disgusted at it. Magistrates, no doubt, have it in their power, in some degree, to lessen this great evil, by preventing abandoned women from appearing in the streets of a town; but I have often felt for magistrates on account of the great and gratuitous trouble they take, and the difficulties they must have to encounter, in their endeavours to keep the wicked within due bounds.

My last fellow-lodgers, before I was out of my apprenticeship, were John Hymers, who had been a sergeant in the Life Guards, and had retired upon his pension, and Whittaker Shadforth, a watchmaker, and also a musician. The latter was of a quite different character from those before noticed, but was wild, enthusiastic, and romantic. Among the many whims and fancies we indulged in, one of them was to learn the manual exercise. The sergeant, who had often laughed at our follies, very readily agreed to undertake this task, provided we would strictly obey the rules he prescribed to us. This we agreed to. He began with a kind of lecture on the necessity of soldiers being obedient to their officers, and standing like a brick wall without flinching; adding that he would not use his cane upon our backs, but only to put us in mind to be very attentive. This being settled, we were in the mornings to appear before him in “bare buff,” that is, without our shirts and upper-clothing. This discipline was pursued steadily for some time, notwithstanding the switches he gave us on our bare backs with his rod or cane, which we bore with the utmost sang froid. I think the sergeant, notwithstanding the entertainment we thus afforded him, began to tire first; for he at last lay in bed while he was giving us our lessons, and at length gave the business up.

From the length of time I had known and noticed Miss Beilby, I had formed a strong attachment to her, but could not make this known to her or to any one else. I could have married her before I was done with my apprenticeship without any fears on my part, but I felt for her, and pined and fretted at so many bars being in the way of our union. One of the greatest was the supposed contempt in which I was held by the rest of the family, who, I thought, treated me with great hauteur, though I had done everything in my power to oblige them. I had, like a stable boy, waited upon their horse; and had cheerfully done everything they wanted at my hands till one of the brothers grossly affronted me in the business of the stable. This I instantly resented, and refused attendance there any more. Before I was out of my time, Miss Beilby had a paralytic stroke, which very greatly altered her look, and rendered her for some time unhappy. Long after this she went with her eldest brother into Fifeshire, where she died.